


merry bloody christmas

by doctormissy



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Banter, Footnotes, Humor, Other, Pining, Post-Canon, Swearing, They/Them Pronouns for Beelzebub (Good Omens), Unresolved Tension, bee loves food, christmas markets, cos we're in europe goddammit, these idiots and their repressed feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:22:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21935917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctormissy/pseuds/doctormissy
Summary: Gabriel unexpectedly runs into Beelzebub in the middle of a Christmas market in London.
Relationships: Beelzebub & Gabriel (Good Omens), Beelzebub/Gabriel (Good Omens)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 40
Collections: 9 Days Christmas Writing Challenge





	merry bloody christmas

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ira_Dunfort](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ira_Dunfort/gifts).



> this is a part of a sequence of holiday-themed stories, but I'm also gifting it to the wonderful Ira_Dunfort for all the Ineffable Bureaucracy holiday fluff, smut, cuteness, pining, and everything in between ♡ it really made my month better every day.
> 
> Merry Christmas, and enjoy!

After the failed Apocalypse, Heaven had been in disarray. That was a sorrowful, blood-curdling[1], top-secret, buried-deep-in-paperwork fact.

It had taken months upon months of reshuffling positions, writing out new forms, and consoling fight-hungry angels who had no clue what to do with themselves with the lack of a War to win to get the great kingdom back into a semblance of order.

It had also taken several meetings with the Opposition. They had needed to deal with formalities, and the fact that those two _traitors_ had somehow survived and fucked off to the South Downs, you see. It wasn’t like there had been a precedent for that.

And, of course, the demon to join Gabriel in these tedious procedures had been none other than Beelzebub themself. It had been _just_ his luck.

Though, he supposed, they were still a much better option than Satan, a known lazy bastard who was bored by any and all formal meetings and thus had little to no idea of what was actually going on—if what they had said about him was to be believed, anyway.

Gabriel never trusted a word a demon said.

Gabriel also currently found himself in London, having the first day off since August last year. Because finally, _finally_ , things were back to being as they were, and Heaven collectively sat down and stretched their wings for a bit, so to speak.

Just in time for Christmas.

Gabriel absolutely didn’t care for Earth, but he did always like Christmas—as angels all should. It was a time of miracles and joy and love and worshipping the Mother and Her son, the being whose birth he had _personally_ announced once upon a time.

Never mind that he had been born in spring. Christmas had been one _wonderful_ move to efface a pagan holiday and bring more followers to their side!

These last few years, however—well, he feared the demonic influence has been outweighing the heavenly. Humans have turned away from faith and twisted it into a commercial holiday full of Greed and Gluttony and sometimes even Wrath and Lust. Even Pride and Envy when it came to decorations, and Sloth after dinner and throughout the following week. And so he was here, giving out blessings everywhere he passed[2].

Everywhere being London Bridge City and its market: a prime example of consumerism. He could practically _sense_ the whiffs of Hell in the air; it would make him shiver if he didn’t pride himself an immaculate being completely in control of his corporation.

Shaking his head, he miracled a couple of children out of lusting for sweets; blessed half a dozen couples with enough love to forget their shopping crises and greed for money; gave a sobbing student a speck of luck in looking for jobs. The air grew clearer.

But not clear. There was still evil, crawling beneath his coat and scarf, persistent.

Gabriel suddenly experienced a Thought. Was there a _demon_ in the vicinity? Did the Traitor come back? Reports had shown no demonic presence in London, he had checked before he left, but he certainly wouldn’t say no to a bit of smiting to highlight the day. 

He looked around, at all the humans visiting the market. And just as he was about to sniff out the source of the evil, someone behind him said, ‘What the _fuck_ are you doing here?’

Gabriel spun on his heel and came face to face—or, well, face to hair—with one disgruntled Prince of Hell, wrapped in a long black coat and holding a cone of something disgusting in one hand and a cup of a hot fermented drink in another[3]. He blinked and said, cockily, ‘Doing my job. What are _you_ doing here, demon?’

Something inside him was disappointed it was just them. Something else was alarmed at the immediate conclusion that there was no smiting _that_ demon, _obviously_. And another part was—sort of, secretly—glad it _was_ them.

‘Can’t I enjoy myself, or _what_?’ Beelzebub gave him an unimpressed, frowny look. Not that there was ever any other kind of look on their face. ‘It’s fun, watching humans fuck up God’s precious holiday.’

No, scratch that. They were _grinning_ now. Interesting.

‘Is this really,’ he made a circular gesture around the chalets and bustling humans, ‘their doing?’

Beelzebub shrugged and took a big gulp of their drink. _Wouldn’t you like to know?_ that gesture was saying. What their mouth said was, ‘You know that if you’ll keep blessing them and I’ll keep cursing them, it won’t really matter in the end, right?’

Gabriel grimaced at them. The Traitors really had that figured out. They had been lying in their reports for centuries; both offices knew that now. But they were also quite undeniably… _right_.

Beelzebub popped a brown chunk into their mouth and offered the cone to Gabriel. ‘Chestnut?’

‘No, keep that stuff away from me, charred like food from _Hell_ ,’ he scoffed. ‘Anyway, I should smite you and get back to my duties, former cooperation or not. It’s still standard procedure.’ His lips stretched in a big, phoney smile.

‘Go ahead,’ Beelzebub said without blinking, around the chestnut. ‘If you have the balls to do it. _In front of all these humans_.’

Gabriel took a breath and let his barely used lungs fill with cold air. But the words hitched in his throat, and he blew out his cheeks instead. They were right. And—in the past year, they have been probably the only creature in all of existence who understood the pain of what he was going through.

Not that he’d ever tell that to anyone, let alone them. He wouldn’t give them the satisfaction.

‘You know what,’ he said eventually, cocking an index finger at them, ‘I’d win. I _would_. But I’ve been working non-stop for fifteen months and I’d rather sit down. We can fight it out later.’

They stepped closer and jabbed a finger into his chest, a mirror of his own gesture. Or they tried to, but the cone of chestnuts was making it slightly difficult. ‘I think you’re forgetting who rules over Hellfire here,’ they said, in a threateningly low, quiet voice. He felt it to the core of his corporation.

Then they stepped back, downed the rest of their wine, and tossed the crushed paper cup behind their back with a quick throw. It hit a man who was walking by. Gabriel sighed and snapped it away into the nearest bin, all the while looking them in the eye.

Their eyes were very blue, he noticed, not for the first time.

‘Insufferable fucking prick.’ Beelzebub ate another roasted chestnut and turned around. Walking away, they called, ‘You coming along or what?’

Gabriel stuffed his hands into the pockets of his grey coat and set off after them, in the direction of Tower Bridge. He quickly caught up with them, having much longer feet, and asked, ‘Where are we going, then?’

‘I’m gonna get a big crêpe with Nutella and bananas[4],’ they said in lieu of a real answer. One that would include him, anyway. He raised an eyebrow, prodding them further. They frowned. ‘Fuck off. Usual place?’

‘The pub or the Tower?’ he asked.

And stopped dead in his tracks, almost colliding with a woman dragging her child. The implication of having _two_ meeting places between the two of them hit him in the face. Has it really gone _that_ far?

Was _this_ how the Traitors had started, at first?

‘Tower’s closer,’ Beelzebub said. They didn’t notice the sudden absence of Archangel walking by their side and carried on walking to the stall selling crêpes. Miraculously, the quartet of teenagers who wanted to order there decided to have something else instead, and they were the first in line.

Gabriel strode over to them, frowning at the smell of oil and sugar. ‘Will you try to get the ravens to fly away[5] again?’

‘Everyone needs hobbies,’ they grinned, toothily, and handed a few quid to the woman in the stall. Gabriel had been almost shocked the first time he saw them actually _pay_ for their food[6]. ‘And give me your scarf, I’m cold.’

‘No!’ he said, mouth hanging open. He touched his prized cashmere scarf protectively. ‘How _dare_ you even suggest that, demon?’

‘It’s not a very gentlemanly thing to do, y’know?’ quipped the woman preparing the crêpe. She was spreading something brown—Nut-Ella, they called it?—on it. ‘Refusing to give a lady your scarf. You should be ashamed of yourself, mister.’

Beelzebub stuffed the chestnut bag into a pocket and crossed their arms. An eyebrow rose up. ‘Hear that, _Gabriel_?’

He sighed. They did look quite cold, if the way they wrapped their arms around their petite body was any indicator. And humans _were_ watching. He would need to wash that scarf in the holiest of Holy Water and a good dose of lavender fabric softener, later—but he took it off and hung it around their neck.

They grinned victoriously, the tips of their fangs showing up just so. For show. Bastard. ‘It smells terrible,’ they noted, and wrapped the mauve thing around their neck. ‘Thank you… _not_ [7].’

He flashed them another fake grin and thought about smiting them after all. Really, there was a whole show playing out in his mind right now. But it wouldn’t do any good to do it in broad daylight at the bank of the Thames.

‘Here you are, miss[8],’ said the woman, passing Beelzebub the folded crêpe. ‘Merry Christmas!’

‘Merry bloody Christmas to the whole brilliantly corrupted world!’ they shouted, loudly enough for the entirety of the market to hear. They grabbed the end of the dough triangle and stuffed it in their mouth rather unceremoniously. Gabriel had half a mind to pray for no chocolate to drip on _his_ scarf.

He didn’t.

Then he’d have to admit just who was wearing it. Things like that went in the paperwork, and while all of Heaven and Hell, respectively, knew about their temporary truce, this meeting was long past its best before date.

He watched Beelzebub eat the crêpe with a gaze oddly accustomed to this sort of situation, and said, ‘Let’s go, then. I’ll pay the entry fee this time.’

‘How very angelic of you,’ Beelzebub said, deadpan. There was chocolate in the corner of their mouth. The aroma was filling Gabriel’s nose, too, and it was utterly _disgusting_. Also, he kind of wanted to know what it tasted like.

‘I am one. The highest,’ he reminded them. ‘And I don’t like sneaking inside.’

Because, let’s be honest. When the demon did it, it was either that or paying with conjured money, and he wouldn’t have that in these merry times. You had to support preserving history, now that it was apparently supposed to be preserved further.

Or, at least, that was what he told himself.

‘One of these days I _will_ roast your arse,’ Beelzebub said around a mouthful of crêpe. They didn’t sound particularly threatening or demonic.

‘Is that a promise?’

They licked their lips. He absolutely wasn’t paying close attention. ‘And I always deliver.’

He opted not to mention the failed execution again, or that there was a bit of chocolate left under their lower lip, and instead turned around. He said, ‘I’m sure. Shall we?’

He set off toward the stairs leading onto Tower Bridge just when they were taking the last bite, setting quite a brisk pace. Entirely on purpose. He didn’t need to look back to know they gave him the bird and jogged to catch up.

The paper plate, naturally, ended up on the ground, and he, naturally, got rid of it.

‘I hate you,’ Beelzebub said. Their voice was muffled by the scarf firmly wound around their neck. It—wasn’t a bad look on them. _A treacherous thought_.

‘Feeling’s mutual, sunshine. And merry Christmas to you too.’

* * *

1 If angels had much in the way of blood, that is.[✿]

2 It mostly had to do with the lack of an agent on Earth, to be honest. The job interviews were extremely thorough, and the right candidate was yet to be chosen. And so there was no other option than to send one of the higher-ups, who could be absolutely, totally, 100% trusted.[✿]

3 Roasted chestnuts and mulled wine with oranges, should the reader wonder.[✿]

4 Beelzebub _loved_ all kinds of food. That was also a fact. They were the Prince of Gluttony, after all. But what most beings didn’t know was that they favoured sweet foods with lots of calories, and that similarly to a certain angel, crêpes were among their top three meals. They really were to discorporate for.

In some other reality, Aziraphale and they were probably going for lunches and visiting food festivals together. _He_ would definitely appreciate the appeal of Christmas markets, unlike _this_ oaf.[✿]

5 _When the ravens are lost or fly away, the Crown will fall and Britain with it_ , the legend says. It’s a bad omen when they do. In the past, Crowley had been known to succeed in chasing them away—not that it did him much good; the Crown merely replaced them—and nowadays, Beelzebub has been trying to kill them or set them free or _something_ evil every time they met with Gabriel in the Tower’s courtyard. But he always made sure they failed.

This was how they verified the theory about cancelling each other’s influences, really.[✿]

6 They never, ever tipped, but stealing food for free just wasn’t how you did it, not even in Hell. _Especially_ not in Hell. You got stabbed for that in the best-case scenario.[✿]

7 It would probably be good to note that Crowley was the only demon _not_ stuck in the 1990s.[✿]

8 Beelzebub preferred to go by they/them pronouns, but they weren’t one to rip people’s throats out for being called “lady”, “miss”, or any of the traditionally feminine names. It was the same with being a _Prince_ of Hell and a _Lord_ of Flies, traditionally masculine titles. If there were one thing to say about demons, it was that they couldn’t care less about gender.[✿]

**Author's Note:**

> please leave a comment and kudos ♡


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